In a moment that will be studied in international relations classes for years, Indian External Affairs Minister Dr. S. Jaishankar declared that India is ready for war:
If war is what China wants, be it a tariff war, a trade war, or any other type of war, we’re ready to fight till the end,
he thundered, the ripples shaking everyone’s chairs.
Close by, in their studios, Arnab Goswami, Navika Kumar, Rubika Liyaquat, and Smita Prakash nodded in furious agreement, their newsrooms vibrating with nationalist fervour, their brains exploding in a riot of bhagwa, and their bottoms following suit, but in khaki.
Across TV channels and YouTube recording studios, microphones were adjusted, camera angles perfected, and graphics prepared:
INDIA SHOWS RED EYES, CHINA SEES YELLOW!
In a private gathering of social media celebrities, cricketers, former IPS officers, actors, and retired generals (and some colonels) spreading their afflu…, sorry, influence online, Jaishankar raised his steel glass filled to the brim with fresh, steaming Gangajal from the Mahakumbh, purified by saints bathing in it. The moment was sacred. The battle had begun. The nation knew. It was a Masterstroke. From the master Masterstroker. His boss. The one and only.
Meanwhile, in Beijing, an extraordinary press conference was unfolding. The spokesperson for China’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs, a man who looked like he had just seen a ghost, stood trembling before the press. He gulped, cleared his throat, and stammered:
Look, the U.S. is the bigger economy. What are we going to do? As a smaller economy, are we going to pick up a fight with the bigger economy? It is not a question of being reactionary, it’s a question of common sense…
A gasp rippled through the room. Chinese journalists, trained for decades to transcribe only bold, threatening statements, found themselves at a loss. A confused reporter accidentally typed “We surrender” before deleting it in panic. Somewhere in Shanghai, a pigeon defected to Taiwan. In another corner of the world, the South Mumbai boys started rummaging their cabinets for their ‘Free Tibet’ tees.
The humiliation did not stop there. The spokesperson, sweating profusely, continued: “In the spirit of humanity and goodwill towards the American people, we have taken robust steps to assist the U.S. in dealing with the fentanyl issue… Instead of recognising our efforts, the U.S. has sought to smear and shift blame to China, and is seeking to pressure and blackmail China with tariff hikes.”
A journalist, barely able to contain himself, interrupted: “So, just to confirm: You’re saying the U.S. is bullying China?”
The spokesperson’s face drained of colour. “No, no, no, no, no! Absolutely not! The U.S. is not bullying China. The U.S. is the bigger economy! We are like… like younger brothers to them! I was misquoted. I meant that China deserves the blame. We’ll do better. We promise.”
The room erupted in uncontrollable laughter. Some journalists had to be escorted out, gasping for breath. A camera operator collapsed from giggling too hard. China was finished. The world was once again safe.
Back in Delhi, Jaishankar sat with Akshay Kumar, Kangana Ranaut, and Vivek Agnihotri (Anupam Uncle was asked to wait outside), discussing his latest victory and how to showcase it in his bio-pic.
“Lily-livered,” muttered Akhay (he had been told to use this phrase by his beautiful, liberal wife).
“Pathetic,” agreed Kangana (using the only English word she knew).
“Chinese naxals,” sneered Vivek (displaying the only emotion he knew).
Jaishankar nodded, his eyes glowing a deep, menacing red, as the screens across India flashed with a single, unified message:
ड्रैगन बना छिपकली. निकल तू अब पतली गली.
Martial music played. The Sensex rose. Hunger and poverty vanished. Raul Vinci boarded a plane for Italy. People poured onto the streets in jubilation. Captain Russel couldn’t believe it. “हम जीत गए!!!” shouted the man in the turban, not able to hide his emotions any more. India had become Vishwaguru. Finally.
Somewhere in the background, out of focus, on a smooth table, Cobb’s totem spun. And spun. And spun.
